


The Ministry Ball

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9320039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac
Summary: Who would have thought that love might be found at a Ministry ball?





	

Luna is dressed as a Christmas tree. Harry looks, sees, continues his conversation with Hermione, looks again and really _registers_. He stumbles over his words, and Hermione looks at him oddly.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Erm, Luna.”

The Ministry’s formal ball, and everyone is in their smartest dress robes. Everyone except Luna. Harry is amazed they let her in, to be honest. Still, he finds a smile snagging the edge of his mouth. She’s one of the top Unspeakables – perhaps she _did something_ to make them let her in… or perhaps she just Luna-ed her way past them.

Hermione turns and gazes. “Oh, my...” She does her best to look shocked, as befits the Minister of Magic, but she can’t help herself, and she is smiling too. “Well, that makes the rest of us look very ordinary, doesn’t it?” she comments. 

Her eyes focus over Harry’s shoulder, but Harry can tell that Hermione has caught sight of Ron by the way her face softens. He is sometimes a little jealous of their love, and the way it has lasted, even after all these years. He and Ginny drifted apart when Lily started Hogwarts: it seemed it had just been the children keeping them together, in the end. They love each other still, but as family, not as lovers. Ginny has been happy with Dean for four years now. It is just Harry who is alone. He shivers, suddenly feeling cold.

“Luna is always different,” he says, trying to sound cheerful.

“She is indeed.” Hermione looks up. “Did you know you’ve got some mistletoe following you around?” she asks. Her eyes twinkle mischievously. “It’s been years since that happened. I was beginning to think everyone had forgotten all the Boy Who Lived stuff.”

“I was beginning to hope,” Harry mutters. 

It still seems strange that he, Harry Potter, should be famous. Somewhere inside, he can always hear Vernon Dursley, saying _”You’re nothing, boy;”_ and he still feels that way. Well, felt it even more when Ginny left. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been right all along – he was indeed unlovable. 

Hermione laughs. “Well, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Maybe you’ll find someone tonight, Harry. It’s been six years.”

“I’m happy on my own,” Harry says. 

It is not entirely a lie. He is content enough. Albus is living with him at the moment, training to be a Healer. After all of their problems when Al was at Hogwarts, he’s grateful to have this time with his younger son. A girlfriend – partner, whatever you call them when you’re in your forties and old enough to know better – would just make things awkward. The last thing he needed was any new awkwardness in his relationship with Albus.

“Hmm.” Hermione, all loved up with Ron, looks unconvinced. “Well, anyway, since it’s there...” 

She gives him a smile and leans in to kiss him firmly on the lips. More firmly than he’s expecting, considering that Hermione is married – not to mention she’s Minister of Magic.

“Hermione!”

She giggles, suddenly the schoolgirl of his youth. “Honestly, your face! You could at least look as if you vaguely enjoyed it!”

“What, and have Ron breathing down my neck for molesting his wife?”

“We’ve been married twenty-two years. He’d probably be grateful.” 

But the look on Hermione’s face says otherwise. Harry doesn’t ask about their sex life – doesn’t want to know – but he’s pretty sure it’s still going strong. Hermione isn’t drinking tonight: she confessed a secret to him a week ago. The Ministry may be in the hands of its very efficient Deputy, Percy Weasley, for a while next year. He’ll love that; Harry’s not sure that the rest of the workers in the Ministry will, though Percy is less straight-laced than he used to be. His wife Audrey, and his mischievous oldest child Molly, have seen to that. Still, he’s no Hermione. Mind you, no one is.

On impulse, Harry leans forward and gives Hermione another kiss. Her mouth opens wide with surprise, and Harry grins.

“There. We’ve given everyone something to talk about. Just be grateful that Skeeter woman’s retired – otherwise there would be hints in a few months that it’s mine!”

They look at each other, remembering the days of the TriWizard Tournament and Rita Skeeter’s claims that Hermione was stringing along both Harry and Victor Krum. A scandal involving Hermione and Ron – now the country’s Golden Couple with Harry and Ginny long parted – and especially one with Harry as the instigator, would be more than bread and butter to a gossip columnist. It would be cake, with icing and a cherry on top.

“Harry, you’re impossible.”

Harry gives a rueful smile. “That’s what _she_ said.”

Hermione shakes her head and bats him gently on the arm. “Idiot.” She bites her lip, and Harry knows the expression well. “You ought to get near Ron, kiss him instead. That would _really_ get the gossip going.”

“And you say I’m impossible! Honestly, Hermione, I’m shocked!” 

But the coldness in Harry’s heart is melting. Hermione in this sort of mood is irresistible. Not in a sexual sense, but the way she is making him feel – young and daft. He didn’t get the chance much when he was actually a child, but the three of them… well, four, with Ginny… made the most of it in the years just following the war. Everyone expected them to be sober and well-behaved; and they were careful enough to keep the press on-side. But really. They were young, and had been close to death – in fact, Harry had actually died. What did anyone think might happen?

Hermione wanders off, and Harry’s secretary takes her place, flirting with Harry so much that Harry wonders whether Gary was responsible for the mistletoe.

When he asks, “May I?” and leans in for the kiss, Harry is pretty certain.

He kisses Gary back politely: he’s not gay, nor even bi, but he’s not homophobic. It would be a bit hypocritical of him considering that he suspects that _both_ of his sons are gay. Albus’s ‘friendship’ with Scorpius Malfoy seems to involve a lot more hugging than Harry and Ron ever did. And that’s in public. Harry rather thinks that things go considerably further in private. He’s hoping that Al will feel comfortable enough to come out to him sooner rather than later. 

As to James… Harry glances over at where his son is talking to Teddy Lupin. You can practically see the stars in his eyes as he does so. James Sirius Potter, top Quidditch star. He could have anyone, but he’s head-over-heels for Teddy, always has been. Harry wonders when his godson is actually going to notice. He knows Teddy swings both ways, and has always had a soft spot for Jamie. But James won’t believe it, and Teddy has never made a move.

Harry looks up at the mistletoe over his head and has a wicked thought. It might be possible to _re-charm_ it so that it would follow James and Teddy. 

He takes a moment to wonder how sad he is, trying to set up his own son. He can almost hear Draco Malfoy’s drawling voice in his ear - _”Really, Potter? Charming mistletoe to follow your son around? Haven’t you got a life of your own?”_ Well, the truth is, no. Harry hasn’t got a life. He has his Auror work, and that’s about it. Or at least, there’s time with Albus – when Al isn’t off with Scorpius… fuck, will that make Draco his in-law, or something horrendous, if Albus comes out? Suddenly, he is less keen for Al to unburden himself. Maybe this secrecy lark has some positives to it, meaning that Harry doesn’t have to acknowledge Malfoy Senior as any more than the father of one of Albus’s friends. Not that he hates the man, it’s just…

“Hello, Harry.”

Luna is beaming at him, her face as bright as her clothing, but in a different manner. Harry finds the tension draining out of him, just with her presence.

“Hey, Luna. You’re looking...” He hesitates, just for a split second, “fantastic.”

“Aren’t I?” Luna’s expression is serene… except there is a twinkle in the back of her eye. She _knows_ , Harry realises – possibly for the first time. She knows damn well what she’s doing, dressing like a christmas tree at a formal gathering. Even all of her talk of Wrackspurts and the like (though it turned out, much to everyone else’s chagrin, that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack did, in fact, exist: Luna’s ex, Rolf, found a colony in Western Europe) is possibly intentionally bizarre. She knows what people think, what people expect of her… and she delivers.

She more than delivers.

“Definitely.” Harry squeezes her hand. “Hermione was saying you put all of us in the shade.”

Luna looks up, as if looking for literal shade to fall upon everyone but her. Her pointy hat wobbles, and the star on the end of it makes a little jingling noise. With her face up-turned, her lips are just below Harry’s. She must be able to see the mistletoe, but she makes no attempt to kiss him. Instead, Harry finds himself leaning down, pressing his lips against hers. Not because of the mistletoe, either – because he wants to.

Because he wants to kiss Luna.

Now there’s a shock. There has always been the greatest friendship and… and surprisingly, _respect_ between Harry and Luna. But more than that? Harry has never even considered it. 

Well. There might have been blonde women in his mind when he wanked, sometimes (he might be in his forties and not desperate for sex like a teenager, but he’s human, after all) – but everyone fantasises about blondes. It’s a thing, right? Even if they all – weirdly – looked… well, looked something like Luna. Like he imagines Luna might look, under those (fairly revealing) Christmas tree clothes. Fuck. If nothing else, Harry knows he’s going to be wanking to Luna’s image tonight. Deliberately. It feels wrong, and weird, knowing this. But he kisses her again, this time like a lover – not in the way he kissed Hermione, or Gary. Not in a way, truthfully, he’s kissed anyone but Ginny, in the past twenty-plus years. Anyone at all, in the last six.

He’s not been deliberately avoiding it. It’s just… there has been no one else Harry wanted to kiss. No one until now. Until he has Luna, dressed in the most ridiculous style possible, standing before him, looking up at the ceiling for the ‘shade’ she’s apparently casting. And he wants to kiss her. And he does.

She responds. Like a lover in return, she responds. Harry feels himself melting into the kiss; feels himself growing hard (that’s not happened, not in public, for… Merlin knows how many years, and embarrassment wars with excitement). Luna slides her arms around him, pulls him close. Harry knows that if he breaks away now, nothing will change. People will think that Luna was just being Luna – her idea of boundaries not the same as anyone else’s. But that’s the thing. If he breaks away now, nothing will change. Nothing will change, and for the first time in a long time, Harry _wants_ things to change. He wants.

He wants.

It’s been a long time since Harry last wanted.

“That feels good, Harry.” Luna sounds slightly breathless; her lips are parted a little as she looks up at him. 

“Luna… yes.” It is not the most coherent comment, but Harry trusts Luna to understand what he means.

“Mistletoe?” she asks, looking up.

“Not just that,” Harry assures her. “Though I’m not sure I’d have done it if it hadn’t been for it.”

He realises that he hasn’t let go of her, and he moves to take a step back, but she keeps her arms around him.

“Then it served its purpose.” She gives him a glinting smile.

“You mean, you…?”

“Me. Do you mind?”

“Hell, no!” Harry says. “Grateful it wasn’t Gary, to be honest.”

“Oh, the man just now? Well,” Luna says teasingly, “he’s nice looking too.”

“For me or for you? Because I see someone a lot nicer looking much closer to me.” Dear Merlin, he is flirting with Luna Lovegood.

She giggles. “Harry, that was dreadful.”

Bugger. Not flirting very well, then. He smiles ruefully. “Sorry. Out of practice. To be honest,” he adds truthfully, “I don’t think I was ever in it.”

“Well, I can get rid of the mistletoe, anyway,” she says. She looks at him seriously. “They attract Nargles, you know,” she adds. “It’s probably why you’re making such peculiar remarks.”

“To this day, I have no idea whether you’re being serious or not,” Harry tells her.

“No one ever does,” she says calmly. “It’s extremely useful.” She steps back and fishes her wand out from – good grief, between her breasts, where it had clearly fit very snugly. “Shall I…?”

“Wait.” Harry’s eyes flick to where James and Teddy are still locked in conversation. If Teddy really isn’t interested, he’s leading James on something chronic. They can rarely be in the same room without gravitating together for most of the evening. “Perhaps a little… redirect?”

Luna moves round, tucking herself neatly under his arm as she does so. She fits perfectly, Harry can’t help noticing.

“Oh, you old romantic, you,” she says, sliding one of her arms (the one not holding her wand) around his waist. “Much better – much more honest – than your awful attempts at compliments.”

“That was true too,” Harry says, mock-indignantly. “You’re definitely better looking than Gary.”

She kisses his cheek. “So are you, but don’t tell him. And as to your two, I can almost touch the UST from here.” She makes a quick motion with her wand, and the mistletoe bobs happily off towards Teddy and James. “There. And as to us...”

“I’m not going to ask you to dance,” Harry says hastily. “I’m no better at it than I was as a teenager, and I don’t think it would help my cause to trample over your feet.” He hesitates. “But I would like to… oh god, I don’t know what my excuse is now, if the Nargles have gone with the mistletoe, because I can’t think of anything but the most godawful pick up lines ever, but Luna, I...”

“Harry,” she says, smiling up at him, “shut up and kiss me.”

To his left, Teddy is leaning across and pressing his mouth to Harry’s son’s. To his right, Hermione and Ron are slow-dancing as if they were meant to do nothing else. Here, at the Ministry Ball, Harry kisses a woman dressed as a Christmas tree, and suspects this is the best Christmas present he’s had for years.


End file.
